


faded scars and borrowed time

by apeirophobia



Series: takotsubo cardiomyopathy [4]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Demisexual Louis, Gen, Grey-A, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Break Up, Relationship Discussions, Where We Are Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apeirophobia/pseuds/apeirophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Zayn have a slumber party. It's a bit angstier than it sounds.</p><p>[Or, Zayn, El, Calum, and Ashton are all leaving Louis one way or another, and the last thing he wants to contemplate is what the look on Harry's face means.]</p><p>In which Harry is regretful, Louis is a lightweight, and Ashton's type is tall, dark, and half-Scottish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. your hand in mine, intertwined in lies

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading this series! Hope you guys are enjoying it and thank you sooo much for leaving kudos and comments, it seriously makes my day! :D
> 
> This one got to be a bit long, so I decided to break this into three chapters. :]
> 
> <3

 

 _Disassociation  _ is a word Louis learned in therapy. It's apparently a thing he does pretty often, lying on his back, staring at the hotel ceiling. Thinking about everything (thinking about nothing), his mind swirling aimlessly as an hour passes in a blink. And he just  _stares_ , breath caught in his throatlike everything's pressing down on him and all he can do in that moment is  _be_. His hands go numb where they lie above his head, and he thinks of another time, another life, another  _him_. Thinks of the Louis he could be if this Louis were dead, thinks of the person he might be if he were born someone else. Thinks about what life would be like if he never existed. Thinks of Harry pressing down on his wrists, his lips against Louis' throat. Thinks of the way they used to fit.  ~~ _T_ _ ~~h~~ inks of Harry loving him_~~. Tries not to think at all.

 

He zones out sometimes. Loses the hour between soundcheck and the show, lying on the couch in his and Zayn's shared dressing room. His legs are thrown over the arm of the couch, his head in Zayn's lap as the other boy reads the latest issue of  _Hellboy_. Louis startles when one of their sound techs knocks on the door to tell them they have ten minutes 'til their on, and Zayn meets Louis' eyes around the edge of his comic.

 

"You okay, Lou?" Zayn asks, his gaze softening as Louis looks around the room, thinking,  _where has the time gone?_  He realizes he never even turned his 'relaxation' playlist on.

 

"Fine," Louis says, grimacing around a smile, as he sits up and tries to convince his heartbeat to slow down. Something as simple as a knock on the door shouldn't send him into a panic. It's just, he's been a little high-strung lately (more like the past eight months). It's just, ever since Harry cheated on him (and is it pathetic that it makes him feel proud that he can  _think_  that statement to himself now?), it's like someone's pulled the rug from under his feet. Metaphorically speaking, it seems like--after that--he can't stop falling. 

 

Sometimes he forgets to eat. Sometimes he forgets the lyrics to songs he wrote. Looking out at the audience at night, for once he doesn't despise Modest's ban on all Larry signs, and then he feels guilty for being relieved. But he slowly gains back the weight he lost in an effort to shed his sadness with it. He puts one foot in front of the other--and a smile on his face--and doesn't protest when Zayn puts a comforting hand at the small of his back to steer him onto the bus, or when Ashton presses a granola bar into his hand when he begins to feel faint. He trusts Zayn. He also--oddly enough--trusts Ashton. Zayn is a warm presence, pressed up against his back when he doesn't want to  ~~ _can't_  ~~sleep alone at night. He is the safety of a friend's arm around Louis' shoulders, the comforting intimacy of a joke whispered between friends at one a.m. Ashton is a quiet reassurance--and it's as ironic as either of them is loud--a flash of a wide smile and a double thumbs up, backstage after a show. Ashton's presence offers a wordless invitation to unburden himself to the one person who understands, almost too well. Zayn and Ashton are, each in their own way, there for him.

 

He forgets a lot of things, as the days blur by, but he remembers that.

 

* * *

 

The pills help. They make things easier (not  _easy_ , never easy), but they make Louis feel a little more real--a little more present--a little more  _here_. Here being the edge of a gravel-covered hotel roof, back against the brick enclosure where the air conditioning generators are housed, legs sprawled gracelessly in front of him. He leans his head against the low wall behind him, feeling the warmth seep out of the bricks and into his back, easing the tense muscles between his shoulder-blades. The last vestiges of the setting sun feel soothing on his face. And if his fingers still shake around his cigarette, well, he can always blame it on the caffeine.

 

Louis went to two doctors before he found one that didn't look from his face to his file (marked "sensitive patient") and then tell him he needed to work on reducing his stress levels. Like he was going to open up to a doctor he'd never met before and explain how he's found himself on a never-ending world tour with his ex-boyfriend, the boy said ex-boyfriend cheated on him with, the boy who said boyfriend cheated on him with's boyfriend (who Louis suspects really doesn't like him and, yeah, that's fair), and his own fake girlfriend who's very existence--at no fault of her own--has been a source of stress in its own right for the past three years. Like anyone needed four years of medical school and a license to make that assessment. Like Louis needed to hear anymore before rolling his eyes and hitting the button for the elevator.

 

The third one wrote him a prescription  ~~ _or three_~~  and didn't try to tell him how to live his life. 

 

"I thought you hated me," he says as Calum sits down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and pulls out a cigarette from behind his ear.

 

"Not anymore," Calum says, like  _that's_   _settled_ ,and Louis should really give up on trying to understand the Australian crew. Their ties of friendship are different than the ones of Louis' group--their camaraderie less stilted due to less interference from management--but their veins of loyalty and defense run just as deep, if not deeper. Ashton's known the other boys for less time than Louis  _lived with_  Harry and yet he protects the band from the world like he was born to do it. He protects the band and the boys protect him in turn. And Calum is that quiet kind of fiercely protective, but Louis knows better than to discount him. It all makes him feel a little jealous, to be quite truthful. But the tides have turned--since Louis' put a dent in the side of Bus 1, or since Louis started taking anti-depressants, he's not sure which--and Calum's feeling towards Louis have turned with it. 

 

"What changed?" Louis says, leaning over so the younger boy can light his cigarette off his, and maybe friendship is sometimes that easy. Louis' not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth.

 

"I grew up," Calum says simply, and Louis doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a close thing. He blows out a mouthful of smoke and shoots Calum an unimpressed look.

 

"He forgave you," Calum says, shrugging his shoulders, like that explains it all, and Louis wonders which incident it was in particular that he needed clemency from, before Calum could feel comfortable befriending him. Ashton befriended Louis months ago and yet--there's been something holding back Calum's approval. Louis thinks about Harry and himself, thinks about loving someone that much (thinks about someone loving _him_ that much). Louis thinks about Ashton and Calum, and thinks about having that much power. Louis wonders how many people have thrown punches at Ashton. Enough that he befriended the first person who apologized. Enough that he didn't even flinch.

 

"You forgave him," Louis says pointedly, and he's morbidly curious about the dynamics of Calum and Ashton's relationship--about how they seem to have weathered gracefully the same event that _destroyed_  what Louis and Harry had--but he doesn't ask.

 

"From a certain point of view," Calum says, "There was nothing to forgive," and Louis could kick him. There's having an objective view of the world (which Louis fully admits he does _not_ have, but still, he can appreciate the sentiment), and then there's being zen to the point of mocking.

 

"You couldn't possibly be that mature," Louis says, and he doesn't even mean it as an insult, he just means Calum is an eighteen year old boy who still laughs when his best friend says  _'boobs'_ or  _'penis'_  (and has a best friend whose sense of humor still consists of shouting  _'boobs'_  and  _'penis'_ , which is kind of condemning in it's own right). 

 

Calum smiles, "Sometimes I even surprise myself," he says, and Louis can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not.

 

"Ash used to shake like this sometimes," he continues, motioning to the tremor that runs up Louis' forearm, "nowadays it's just because that boy drinks his body weight in coffee," he says, a fond smile flitting across his face at the thought of his drummer.

 

"You, on the other hand, shake like this all the time," he says, lifting an eyebrow conspiratorially, and it's like Calum already knows all his secrets.

 

"I'm glad you're getting the help you need, Louis," he says seriously, and Louis can't help but think  _the help I need--_ like he needs so much more than a cup of tea and a bottle of antidepressants--like he needs an enema for his  _soul_ , and the voice inside his head has never sounded so cynical.

 

"That's very magnanimous of you," Louis says, and he doesn't mean it to sound as bitchy as it does.

 

"Please, never mistake me for being magnanimous," Calum says tightly, and it's not unkind, but it is firm, "I'm just as human as you are," he says, and it sounds like a warning. Louis thinks back to split knuckles and concrete, thinks back to tears he wishes he didn't shed, and the way the only thing that seemed to surprise Ashton was his kindness. He wonders what Calum would look like pushed to the breaking point, wonders what horrors such a seemingly light-hearted boy would be capable of. Louis' seen Ashton backed into a corner, and he found it heartbreaking, despite not being in love with the younger boy. He can't even imagine what Calum could do with that kind of proper motivation.

 

"I'll keep that in mind," Louis says, and Calum smiles.

 

* * *

  

In six months Louis will be on tour with Harry, Liam, and Niall. No Ashton, no Calum, and no Zayn. No Eleanor, even. Her contract is ending in March and she's not planning to ask for a renewal. And Louis is glad, he really is--about that part at least--but that doesn't mean that his breath doesn't catch in his throat sometimes at the thought of being  _alone_ , on tour without anyone on his side. Zayn will be gone in less than six months, and the worst part is Louis can't even  _fault_ him for it. He was the first person Zayn told when the possibility of renegotiating his contract was offered, and as he explained--in hushed whispers--his reasons for wanting to leave, Louis couldn't find it in himself to be anything but supportive. He's _sad_ , of course, but he's not _angry_  (okay, he's a little angry, maybe, but more with the situation than) with Zayn. Because Zayn is Louis' best friend, and he wants only the best for him. If touring has become too much, if it's _all_ become too much, then there's nothing Louis can do but encourage Zayn to do what he needs to do to take care of himself. Everybody wants different things, no one's priorities are the same. Just because Zayn values peace and independence where Louis values devotion and perseverance doesn't mean Zayn's in the _wrong_. Zayn's done nothing but try his hardest to help Louis hold himself together while life threw upset after upset at him. Louis'd be a shit friend to do anything but return the favor.

 

There's something to be said for walking away, and there's something to be said for never letting go. Zayn's the type to cut his losses in the name of self-preservation, taking the high road in something of an attempt of dignified aloofness. He's the sort to appear to be above turmoil even when he's really _really_ not. Louis' more the sort to hold on until his hands bleed, hence the tiny white crescents on the sides of his ribs--evidence of his desperate attempts to anchor himself through panic attack after attack--fingernails repeatedly pressed to flesh until finally the redness faded, leaving permanent marks behind. He's the emotional equivalent of Anakin crawling up the volcanic slope, never giving up the fight, even when he's missing most of his metaphorical limbs. They're both admirable, in their own ways.

 

"You don't need me, do you?" Eleanor asks, and Louis knows what she's really asking,  _are you and Harry thinking of getting back together?_ and also,  _can you manage your public persona for six months of tour without me?_ And the answer to the first question might be a resonating _NO_ but the answer to the second question is more along the lines of _eh..._  Nothing in Louis' life is ever simple, ever straight-forward, and his friendship with Eleanor even less so. Their relationship is tied up in false pretenses and unethical business practices, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy her company. _Can_  Louis manage six months without Eleanor? Undoubtedly. Does he _want_ to? Not really. Can he manage six months on tour without Eleanor _after_ the collective loss of Zayn-Calum-Ashton? Absolutely not. Call him a pessimist, but odds are fairly predictable within a reasonable margin of error, and Louis failed geography, not maths.

 

"I don't like change," Louis says with a shrug, like that's all it is. Like his total current existential crisis--his total internal meltdown of abandonment issues--is no big deal. He shrugs, like _I've had worse--_ and the truth is _he has_ but he's not sure that's the best argument here--and says, "This is the first Valentine's Day I'll be single, since I was sixteen, " and he says it like it's flippant, like he's not afraid of dying alone.

 

Eleanor sees right through him. "You can't lie to me," she says, "I've fake-dated you for three years, I know you all too well," and it's an odd intimacy, three years of too little feeling and not enough space, but neither Louis nor Eleanor is to blame for the truths they've witnessed. Louis knows that Eleanor doesn't talk to her parents 362 days out of the year. Eleanor knows what Louis looks like when he cries.

 

"I've had the advantage of continual unguarded exposure _without_ the hindrance of being in love with you," she says with a shark of a smile, and Louis thinks that Calum might not be the only one who knows all his secrets.

 

"Love is a hindrance?" Louis asks, and he's not so much surprised at the words--for lord knows they're dripping in truth--as he is surprised at them, and all their cynicism, coming out of El's mouth.

 

"You know it is," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic huff, "Max completely derailed my plans of being a cold, heartless bitch," and she really looks put out about it, bless her heart.

 

Louis thinks of Max and Eleanor, of the pictures he saw on her phone. Thinks of the way she smiled when Max's arms were around her, about how they looked a thousand times happier than he and El ever looked, even in their best photo ops. He thinks of Calum and Ashton, of the way Calum smiles so hard his eyes crinkle at the corners with joy whenever he turns around between songs to play to his drummer. Thinks of the way Ashton looks at Calum like he's never seen anything more precious in the entire world. Thinks of Ashton's fingers in Calum's hair and Calum's smoke in Ashton's mouth and  _knows_  why they got through what he and Harry did not.

 

Yes. Love is a hindrance. But--despite it indirectly being the reason he's on two medications and still four pounds underweight--Louis knows its worth. Knows its worth in only the way someone who's loved greatly, and lost just as greatly, can.

 

"You'll be a proper house-wife before you know it, El," Louis says, and he's half-joking, but there's a sad edge to his words that belies his jealousy, and he purses his lips in displeasure at his own pettiness. Jealousy doesn't look good on anyone after-all, not even someone as photogenic as Louis Tomlinson.

 

"One can only wish," Eleanor says with a slightly dreamy smile on her face, and her lack of sarcasm doesn't fit with her eggshell Chloe' bag and posh Serge Luten lipstick. Louis wonders if love (if  _Max_ ) turned Eleanor into an entirely different person, or if it just melted away some of her harsher edges, brought out the softer girl hiding underneath. And it's not that he minds either--"in love" Eleanor is mushy and romantic, and it's different, but nice--but he kind of liked Ice Queen Eleanor. She was sarcastic and emotionally distant. Louis could relate.

 

And now in his head all he can see is happy couples. Happy couples leaving him. Zayn is leaving for a lot of reasons, but it would be naive to act as if Perrie isn't on the list. And Eleanor is leaving to be with Max, so she can stop pretending that her boyfriend is her gay best friend, and her best gay friend is her boyfriend. Calum and Ashton are leaving together, but they're taking Michael and Luke with them, and honestly, it's just losing the kids in the divorce at this point. Sometimes Ashton and Calum are so cute it's a little disgusting, and Louis' not sure exactly when he stopped being jealous of what Ashton had with Harry, and started being jealous of what he haswith _Calum_ , but it's the truth (and isn't _that_ a low blow that he doesn't want to examine too closely?). Louis doesn't need to count the staircases in his dreams to tell him why he both likes and loathes the boy who stole his first love and still got to keep his own. Louis doesn't need to implore deep self-reflection to figure out why Ashton's curly hair and olive eyes sometimes ignite something in him that makes his skin crawl. It's not jealousy, Louis tells himself, and the profit of false honesty is a shallow relief. It's not lust, Louis tells himself, and the relief never comes.

 

 _It is what it is_ might be inked into the skin of his clavicle but Louis knows it's just a pretty way of saying 'shit happens'. Louis' biological father left him when he was eight days old. His boyfriend of three years cheated on him. His hands shake and sometimes he can't look himself in the mirror. Shit happens. Louis earns eight million a year but that doesn't mean he can afford to fall apart. So the happy couples continue to be happy, and Louis continues to _be_ (and what Louis told Eleanor _is_ true, this year will mark the first Valentine's Louis has been single since he was sixteen). 

 

Louis thinks wistfully of Saint Valentine. He too had to witness the bliss of happy couples around him in a time of crisis. Saint Valentine, however, was then beaten with clubs and then beheaded.

 

If only Louis could be so lucky.

 

* * *

 

“I thought this was a sleepover, not a photoshoot,” Zayn says sarcastically, opening the hotel door to Eleanor in retro striped pajamas, her hair pulled into a high ponytail, looking like a model. What Louis wanted, he realized--when his impending solitude truly sank in, when he stopped being bitter and started being nostalgic--towards the last months of tour, was just one last night of friends. Of Eleanor and Zayn and whatever sense of normalcy he can grasp before it all changes (again). Zayn and El--too inundated with misplaced guilt to even think of saying  _no_ \--were quick to agree.

 

"Oh please," she says, brushing past Zayn and snarking over her shoulder, "You're the one who's always modeling, Mr. "oh-is-this-my-good-side", making sure you catch the light just right in your morning selfies."

 

"Somebody's been stalking my Instagram," Zayn says with a wink and Eleanor huffs dramatically, "Louis, your boyfriend is flirting with me again!" as she throws herself onto the nearest bed.

  

"He's not my boyfriend," Louis says distractedly from where he's on his knees in front of the tv, trying to figure out the foreign entertainment system, "and he flirts with everyone."

  

Which isn't exactly true. Zayn flirts with Louis, yes, but Louis' been aware that Zayn's wanted to sleep with him since approximately fifteen minutes into X-factor Live. If Zayn didn’t have a girlfriend and Eleanor wasn’t his fake-girlfriend, Louis would say they were falling in love.

 

“I have a fiancee’ okay? Fucking excuse you,” Zayn says, and even though it's the truth, his tone is light and teasing. He throws himself on the bed beside El, knocking a pillow off the end that hits Louis in the back of the head. It had been Louis' idea, the slumber party. One last hurrah before they all went their separate ways (except for Ashton and Calum, who were, in fact, going the same... _direction_ , and sometimes Louis cringes at the punniness of his own thoughts). Zayn suggested they do something that had a little less nail-painting and a bit more drinking. Eleanor had then asked him if he had ever been to a slumber party before. What had followed ( _Guys! I have never had my nails painted at a slumber party, okay?_ ) sounded like a very specific denial.

 

“Yeah, so?" Louis says with a smirk, turning around to face his friends, "I sleep in your bed more than she does,” and throws the pillow back, hitting Zayn in the face. He hears a muffled  _nooo, not the quiff_  from under the pillow as Zayn tries to protect his hair.

  

“Point,” Eleanor says with a nod, and Louis doesn’t know if she’s agreeing with him, or reffing them like they’re a tennis match.

  

“Fifteen, love?” Louis counters with a cheeky smile.

  

“I love when you get clever,” Eleanor says with a grin, and a fully-toothed grin on a posh girl is kind of terrifying.

  

“You two flirting is really disastrous for my boner,” Zayn mutters into his hands, falling onto his back on the bed.

 

“Oh really?” Eleanor says, lifting an eyebrow suggestively as if to say _please tell me more?_  

 

Zayn just moans.

 

* * *

 

If only things could always be this simple. If only it could always be _LouisEleanorZayn._  Like affection without consequence, and emotional support without risk. Like love without price. If it could always be this easy to smile. This easy to breathe.

 

Zayn rolls over, squishing the offending pillow between the two of them, and says "Whatcha thinking about?" with a silly grin on his face. A silly grin that Louis will remember in the coming months, when all the news sources try to sell  _bad boy_ Zayn Malik as the newest (and hottest) solo artist on the rise. He will remember Zayn leaning down to 'boop' him on the nose and know that no matter how many tattoos he gets, and how many R&B connections he makes, that Zayn is a nerd at heart. And that, no matter what, Louis is in his heart too.

 

"You," Louis says with a smile, laughing when he hears Eleanor  _aw_ loudly from the other side of the bed, and then giggling in ernest when she decides to take her revenge by tickling his feet.

 

Louis doesn't know how the next couple of months will go. He doesn't know what 2015 will bring, but in this moment he doesn't care. He's happy. And he'll take it while it lasts.

 


	2. always knocking at my door, like a bad memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the lovely comments on chapter 1! :D love you guys, thanks for reading! <3

 

Zayn is in a Marvel tank and pajamas pants--one of the hotel’s extra throw blankets tied around his shoulders like a cape--while Eleanor lies on her side, holding her stomach from laughing too hard, and Louis has a pillow flung behind his head--trying to figure out how to get Zayn without hitting Eleanor--when Ashton walks in.

 

“Um,” he says, pausing in the doorway, “Did the sexy slumber party start without us?”

  

The look of startled surprise on his face is quite comical. Especially when his pause in the doorway leads to Calum crashing into his back with soft ‘ _ooff_ ’. The two boys stumble into the room as a unit, the hotel door falling shut behind them.

 

“Get in!” Louis calls excitedly, and Ashton hops on the bed without question, curls bouncing lightly. Zayn tackles him immediately, wrapping his blanket-cape around the boy and crowing, “I have captured one of our Australian foe!” while doing a mad cackle. His pseudo super-villain impression sounds even more ridiculous for being in his lilted Bradford accent, and Ashton giggles, leaning back in Zayn’s embrace, since Zayn doesn’t seem keen on letting him go anytime soon, and says, “You smell really good,” with an appreciative sigh.

 

“Dude,” says Calum, kneeling on the edge of the bed, “You can’t just trade one dark and handsome singer for another,” and pretends to wipe an imaginary tear off his cheek, “We’re not all the same!” he exclaims dramatically.

 

"Okay, in my defense," Ashton says, reaching out with his feet and prodding Calum in the thighs imploringly with his toes, "I've lived with Luke Hemmings for nearly three years. I know to appreciate a good-smelling man when he wraps me in his blanket-cape-thing."

 

Calum nods like,  _good point_ and Ashton uses the moment of distraction to sweep Calum's legs out from under him, bringing him down onto the bed beside him with a triumphant, "Hah!"

 

Calum ducks when Louis tries to bop him on the head with his pillow, and Eleanor sticks one of her feet in the air to protect her face from getting hit, and accidentally (“accidentally”) trips Louis, leading to them all falling in a pile. Ashton ends up in a straight jacket blanket-burrito between Calum and Zayn, Louis sprawled over Calum’s legs, and Eleanor with her chin on Zayn’s hip, surveying the damage casually, somehow having avoided the majority of the chaos.

 

“Well,” Ashton says, after a moment, “This isn’t the worst situation I’ve ever found myself in,” and Calum reaches over to swat the top of his head. Ashton just giggles.

 

* * *

 

"I vote for whatever movie is least scary," Ashton says, kneeing in front of the coffee table and prying open a tupperware of brownies. The living room is a war-zone of slumber party paraphernalia; pillows and shoes and backpacks all strewn about. After three pizzas, several beers, numerous mozzarella sticks, and about two dozen donuts, Louis is starting to think that teenagers are actually black holes of infinite consumption. Up until very recently Louis has always had a healthy appetite, and yet he can't _imagine_ putting away as much food as Calum just did, even in his worst of post-game post-haze munchies. Speaking of which--

"These aren't special brownies, by any chance?" Louis asks hopefully, looking over Ashton's shoulder as the younger boy cuts the sweets into squares.

"No!" Ashton says, scandalized, and then thinks for a moment, "Actually, Michael helped me in the kitchen, so no promises," he says, and gives Louis a winning smile, as if to say, _still be my friend even if I accidentally drug you_.

"They're delicious either way, there's nutella in the center!" Calum says excitedly, grabbing a corner piece, and Louis marvels once more at Calum's seemingly endless appetite.  _And on such a fit guy, too..._ the physically appreciative (and slightly jealous) part of his mind supplies, oh-so-helpfully.

 

"Where do you put it?" Louis asks bewilderedly, and he means the _calories_  damnit but once he sees identical grins slide across Calum and Ashton's faces Louis knows he fucked up. He knows this conversation is no longer headed in a nutritional direction.

"Ugg! Nooo!" Louis says quickly, waving the hand not holding a brownie demonstratively, "That's not what I meant!" but it's too late.

"Well, if you insist on a demonstration..." Ashton jokes, and starts to pull up his shirt, while Calum does something involving his brownie and his _mouth_  that comes across more suggestively than should even be possible. Zayn puts his hand over El's eyes and Louis smacks himself in the face.

 

"Well," Louis says, trying to focus on his own (completely unsexy) brownie slice and trying to get certain images out of his brain, "I certainly walked into that one," Eleanor hums sympathetically in agreement, but Louis suspects she's enjoying his predicament (i.e. awkward boner) far too much. 

 

"You know who really walked into _that_ ," Ashton says, never one to resist a clever turn of phrase, "Liam." 

 

Zayn snorts so hard at Liam's expense, Louis is pretty sure brownie goes up his nose. It sounds like it hurt.

 

" _No_ ," Eleanor gasps, turning to Ashton and making grabby hands, probably as much at the story as at the brownie slice, "You  _didn't_."

 

"Hmm," Calum says, stretching out on the carpet and throwing his arm over his face and shielding his eyes dramatically, as if recounting the tale causes him embarrassment, _as if_ , "Sad to say, but poor Liam saw some...things...in the Superdome parking lot," and he really doesn't sound regretful. At all.

 

"Whaa--what," Louis tries again, pausing to search his memory of last week, trying to recall whether or not Liam seemed particularly flustered at the New Orleans soundcheck, "What happened?"

 

"It's kind of a long story," Ashton says, and Louis can't tell if he's trying to be coy, or just trying to temper Eleanor's enthusiasm for his apparent accidental foray into exhibitionism. Unlike Calum, Ashton actually does have shame. Like, maybe not a lot--especially by non-Australian standards--but, you know,  _some_.

 

"Listen," Eleanor says, "I've got champagne, and I've got time." Popping a bottle for emphasis, she leans forward in rapt attention, "Now spill the--as Niall would say-- _hot gosp._ "

 

Sometimes Louis wonders if it's possible to turn into a human facepalm.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later after the credits roll on their third movie Louis is crying into his champagne.

 

"My babies," Louis says with a sniffle, "Growing up so fast."

 

"He hasn't even had that much to drink," Eleanor says, giggling conspiratorially and nudging Zayn towards the two empty bottles on the floor. They broke out the bubbles about halfway through The Rocky Horror Picture Show to have a proper toast. Now Louis is petting Calum's hair and shaking his head wistfully.

 

"Told you Lou is a weepy drunk," Zayn whispers back, pouring another glass of champagne before Eleanor drinks it all.

 

"Even my littlest baby is bigger than me," Louis continues mournfully, now stroking Ashton's curls from where the younger boy is sprawled in Calum's lap.

 

"Hey!" Ashton says, trying to cover his flinch from the unexpected touch by acting slighted, "I'm the oldest in the group!"

 

"He means 'littlest' in height and weight, Ash," Calum says with a teasing tone, poking his boyfriend in the side, "So smol!" he adds, earning himself an indignant scoff in reply.

  

"Louis gets a little emo when he has anything to drink," Zayn says in a stage whisper, and it's a bit late of a warning, considering that Louis' already cried about 'his babies' touring on their own twice, cast a couple of guilt-tripping looks in Zayn's direction, and worried about whether Max is going "treat El' right".

 

"We'll be just a phone call or a Skype away!" Ashton tells Louis placatingly--after Louis' has finally unhanded him. His attempts to reassure the older boy being cut short by increasingly more dramatic yawns, as his eyes start to droop closed.

  

"Lightweight," Calum mutters fondly, shifting over so Ashton's head is pillowed more evening in his lap. "Welp," he says with a shrug, "Guess somebody's not making it through the X-files."

 

"Did he even drink? Wait, did you?" Louis says, recalling earlier--when they first poured their toasts--the image of Eleanor shouting something about "respect your elders!" and tossing back the younger boys' glasses.

 

"Nope!" says Eleanor, entirely too cheerfully. Louis looks over to see that she has three empty flutes, arranged in a line. _Good lord, she's like a freaking magpie_ , he thinks, _collecting shiny things_. Or maybe a serial killer. Collecting souvenirs from her prospective future victims.

 

"Don't kill the kids, El', I found them, I worked hard," Louis slurs into her shoulder, and she pats him on the head consolingly.

 

"I'm not gonna kill them," she says, pushing his fringe back gently, and tracing his face with her fingertips, "I am gonna make them sleep on the floor though," she says after a moment of contemplation, "I can already tell that Ashton's a human space-heater, and Calum looks like the type to 'accidentally' grab a boob mid-dream."

 

Calum cheerfully throws up his middle finger, but doesn't disagree.

 

* * *

"Six-thirty is kind of an ungodly hour to be awake, isn't it?" Calum says conversationally when Eleanor walks by. He's playing video games while Ashton slowly returns to the world of the living, his head pillowed on Calum's lap while the other boy kills zombies. Louis' out on the balcony having a morning cigarette while Zayn's lounges on an array of couch cushions on the floor, looking longingly towards the sliding glass doors--clearly torn between his leaving his cozy nest and having a blunt with his best friend. Eleanor--dressed and blowdried--looks like she's been up for hours. Which is, technically, impossible given the fact that they went to _bed_  only a couple of hours before.

  

"You know what we need?" Eleanor asks aggressively, leaning over the back of the couch. 

 

"What?" Calum asks cautiously. Eleanor always seems a little frightening when she poses questions like that. Like she's already made up her mind and there's no choice but to go along. Calum grew up with an older sister. He knows all about fiercely opinionated girls, and about how when they ask questions, they're not really questions.

  

"Pancakes," says Eleanor with conviction, and Calum's not sure that the word has ever been spoken in such a forceful tone. The aesthetic--ideologically--of _pancakes_ as a whole kind of belies a laid-backness that Eleanor really isn't channelling right now.

 

"How does pancakes sound, Ash?" Calum asks, as his boyfriend begins to stir. "Hmm?" Ashton says in reply, sleepily but curiously.

 

"God, you're such a cat," Calum says with a laugh, looking from Ash's sleepy smile to Eleanor's amused face, "He's a total fucking cat--the whole band is, actually. Except for me," he says, and gives Eleanor a charming smile, "Warm things, cuddles, sunny spots...they're their greatest weaknesses, yah know, if you ever wanted to defeat them, or something like that."

 

"You're totally ruining my reputation!" Ashton says, sitting up, halfway between a huff and a laugh. 

 

"As what? A dangerous space pirate?" Calum shoots back, taking his eyes off the game to give Ashton a very incredulous look.

 

"I could have been a badass...hypothetically," Ashton says, "I mean, I am a drummer," he adds, as if that point stands on it's own, "Once you start telling people my weakness is cuddles it's game over."

 

"So you were a badass before I said that?" Calum asks in challenge, "Mr. I'm-so-glad-I-remembered-to-pack-wet-wipes?"

 

"Okay, first, _someone_ has to bring the wet wipes...we can't just inflict Michael on the world, all sticky-fingered and everything," Ashton says in a very  _duh_ tone of voice, "And second, it's like...Schrodinger's box of potential badassery...until you declared me to be 'not a badass' I was not _not_ badass, you know?"

 

Calum pauses the game to turn fully to Ashton. Eleanor rests her chin on her hands, fully engrossed in the ridiculous debate unfolding in front of her. Honestly, the accents alone are enough to amuse her, but Calum and Ashton's penchant for acting like a couple that's been married for years is too entertaining.

 

"Ashton, you wore a _My Little Pony_ shirt," Calum says, as seriously as he is able,  "Unironically," he adds, as if this that detail is the final nail in the coffin of Ashton's argument (it kinda is). 

 

"Besides, it's like a rule--you can't be badass with curly hair, just adorable. Sorry, but I don't make the rules!" Ashton fakes a pout, but his grin is already starting to show through. Terrible poker faces is something he and Calum have in common.

 

"You could rob a bank and people would say _what ever is that sweet boy up to?_ '" Calum says, openly teasing now.

 

Ashton pauses, pretending to think things over for a moment, then says, "Wait a minute...you have curly hair too..." and smiles wider now, "We could rob banks together!"

  

"Okay," Eleanor says, standing up and looking a little disgusted, "This is too much cute this early in the morning," and goes to call down for breakfast.

 

"I think we scared her away," Ashton says in a mock-whisper. Calum grins and raises his hand for a high-five.

 

* * *

"You look remarkably well-rested for someone who made it through two more episodes than I did," Ashton says brightly when Louis comes in from the balcony, and god, does he always _chirp?_ Louis knows it's partly the accent, but sometimes he feels like Ashton is cheerier than should be strictly legal.

 

"And you are surprising chipper for someone who was unconscious five minutes ago," Louis returns with a laugh.

  

"He does that," Calum says, hands moving rapidly, not taking his eyes off the screen, "He'll go from dead asleep to being completely ready to go faster than people who've been up for half an hour," he says as an explosion indicates that he won his current level, "Michael hates it." 

 

"Eleanor ordered you pancakes," Ashton informs him helpfully, "I don't think you have a choice in this matter."

  

Louis laughs, "Well, that's not the worst thing to be forced on you," and Ashton shrugs agreeably. Eleanor passes by the couch with three different roasts under her arm and a truly maniacal look on her face. Louis knows himself well enough to admit that he's not a morning person, but sometimes he's not sure Eleanor is even a person at all.

 

A knock on the door pulls Louis out of his sleep-deprived train of thought.

 

"I'll get it," Ashton offers, since he's more awake than most of them, and fairly normally dressed. Zayn won't dare show himself to strangers while wearing his superhero PJ's, and Eleanor doesn't like the scandalized looks the staff give her whenever she answers Louis' door to receive room service. Not that they'll be less scandalized to see a--seemingly--teenage boy answer the door, in nothing but an oversized flannel shirt and a pair of boxers. Louis knows how hotel staff love to talk. Good thing he's firmly run out of fucks to give.

 

Ashton disentangles himself from his pile of warm boyfriend and stumbles off towards the door.

 

"Thanks, Ash," Louis says distractedly, and goes to pry Eleanor off the coffee maker before she brews something so strong it's actually lethal.

 

* * *

 

Ashton opens Louis' hotel door, coming face-to-face with someone who is decidedly not room service.

 

"Harry," Ashton says, leaning around the door-frame, hoping to spot the promised pancakes down the hall, "Imagine seeing you here."

 

Harry takes in the over-sized flannel--a scowl of hypocritical judgment deepening as his eyes get to where the tails hang low enough to obscure the edges of Ashton's boxers--and says, icily "I could say the same to you."

 

Ashton laughs, but it's not his usually cheery, carefree laugh, "Yeah, except I'm where I'm supposed to be, and roll call isn't for another two hours, so did you need something or...?" he says, making no secret of the fact that he's trying to shoo Harry off before the food, or Louis, arrives.

 

"Nothing you can help me with," Harry says, a bit testily.

  

"Well, that's a welcome change," Ashton says, and his derision might be intentional, but his relief is genuine, "I really wish I'd let Michael hit you before he turned eighteen," he muses, and looks quite regretful about it. "Then again, Luke was a legitimate option for quite some time--the offers were just rolling in really--but he's just such a string bean I doubt he'd do much damage," Ashton says, casually, like this is just a topic of discussion between friends. Harry looks at Ashton like he's speaking another language, his mouth hanging open a little. Apparently this was not the conversation he'd prepared himself for this morning.

 

Ashton opens the door a little wider when Louis comes up behind him, "Sorry Lou, it wasn't room service," Ashton says and shrugs his shoulder apologetically at Louis.

  

"It's fine Ash," Louis says, pushing his fringe out of his face so he looks more awake, "I've got this," he says, even though he really really don't got this. 

 

"Louis," Harry says as greeting, his eyes narrowing in judgement, "This is pretty fucking low, don't you think?"

 

"Oh please," Louis says, and he doesn't need to fake the disgust in his voice, "You're insulting yourself if you're implying what I think you're trying to," and bites his tongue on the incredulous  _do you even **know** me? _ that wants to slip out, swallows back  _did you ever know **Ashton**?_

 

Louis shakes his head at the bitter thoughts; h e really doesn't want to dwell on all the ways Harry knows Ashton, all the ways except for the one that matters.

 

"I miss you," Harry rushes out, "I miss talking to you, and hanging out with you, and all my blocking on stage is completely opposite to yours, so sometimes it feels like I go days without seeing you," and Louis could sympathize, he really could, except--

 

"You have a funny way of showing it. Showing up at an inhospitable hour and accusing me of fucking my friends," Louis says and the _I thought that was you_ goes unspoken. He really really wants to be petty, wants to drag every misdeed Harry's committed in the last year and a half into the morning light but something--either Harry's absolutely sad face, or the room full of friends behind him--keeps him from being completely uncivil.  _Completely_. Louis thinks he could probably kick Harry and still have the moral high-ground.

 

Harry looks down at his shoes. He's entirely too dressed for half-past six in the morning, and Louis wonders who's he's trying to impress. Certainly not him. He loved Harry when Harry was a soft sixteen-year-old that thought it was cool to leave his shoes untied--a thousand pound shirt isn't exactly going to gain favor in Louis' eyes. He wonders if Harry wears it as armor of some sort, though he can't imagine what Harry could need protecting _from_. 

 

"I deserved that," Harry says, "I just get so jealous when I see you two together--when I see you with anyone, really--and I don't know why."

 

"Is now really the time to talk about this?" Louis says, leaning on the doorframe. Truthfully, he's half-asleep. Also truthfully, he's not sure he ever wants to have this conversation. He can hear the opening notes to _Good Girls_  coming from the other room, and knows that Eleanor and Zayn must have found some top twenty countdown. He wants more than anything to be in the other room, wedged between El and Z on the couch--warm, content,  _safe_. Not on the edge of having this conversation. Not on the divide between the relationship he  _had_ and the reality he currently finds himself in. The reality that is becoming more welcoming ever day, especially in the face of the painful things Louis left behind.

 

"Look at it!" Zayn's shout comes from the hotel suite's living room, sounding like a proud parent who's having way too much fun embarrassing his kids on the first day of school, "You two look so handsome!"

 

Louis turns at the noise to see Ashton blushing at Zayn's praise and Calum hiding his face in Ashton's thighs. Louis feels like he should get a squirt-bottle for those two.

  

"Sorry, what's going on?" Harry asks, trying to see past Louis to the shenanigans happening in his room.

  

"Eleanor is watching this Saturday morning music video countdown and Zayn is having far too much fun enthusing over Cal and Ash's performances in their new video," Louis explains, a fond look of exasperation on his face as he hears his friends shouting over each other in the next room.

 

Harry's mouth tightens at the familiarity in Louis' voice, "Eleanor?" he says with a frown, "You're hanging out with her? Doesn't she have her own room?"

 

"She gets lonely--I mean, who's she supposed to hang out with when she's here, she's supposed to be dating me?" Louis asks, "I don't want to abandon her--I'm not the shitty boyfriend the paper's say," he says, missing the hurt that flickers across Harry's face at his word choice.

 

"Besides, her and Zayn get along so we all hang out together," Louis says, and he doesn't know why he's telling Harry this. Doesn't know why he's explaining himself. He doesn't  _owe_ Harry anything, and yet--(maybe he doesn't mind telling Harry about the life he has, without him).

 

"We had the kids over for a slumber party last night," Louis says with a yawn, as Eleanor comes up behind him and snakes her arm around his shoulders. He leans into her warmth without thought, resting his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes. He must have overestimated his ability to subsist on four and a half hours of sleep.

 

"Save me Lou," Eleanor murmurs into his hair, "Your kids are on the couch are canoodling, I can't take it," she pleads, steering Louis back into the hotel room. He misses the look of absolute murder El' shoots Harry over her shoulder.

 

The door falls softly shut, leaving a boy and his regrets and his fancy shoes alone in the hall.

 

* * *

 

Louis stands on the tarmac and curses his life, including each and every personal decision that has led him to this moment. Ten hours in a private plane with his ex-boyfriend. Not exactly the most anticipated event of Louis' year.

 

"You've got something to prove, don't you?" Louis says, looking up at Harry. He's not sure how the younger boy managed it, arranging for the rest of the band to fly ahead so they'd be stuck flying by private charter together. He should remember to never underestimate Harry. It always results in Louis being stabbed in the back, one way or another.

 

"Every damn day," Harry says, and his smirk looks just a little too self-satisfied.

 

"Well then," Louis says with a sigh, turning away from the sunset and thinking wistfully of his friends (probably all drinking champagne and talking about comic books on their stupid group flight) and Louis' not feeling incredibly left out and bitter, _not_ _at all_ , "I've certainly got nothing to lose," he says, squaring his shoulders and giving Azoff's personal jet a look most people reserve for their own impending death.

 

"You have no idea," Harry says, his voice full of meaning and his affect flat (and it's not fucking fair). _He_ doesn't deserve to be all broken up about this.  _He_ doesn't deserve to be all regretful words and sad eyes at Louis. He doesn't deserve to try on remorse--like a designer coat of the week--to see if it fits, fourteen months after fact.

 

"Fucking try me," Louis says, brushing past Harry to get on the plane. Where does the curly-headed cunt get off on acting like _he_  was the one who was wronged?

 

Louis lost his whole future. Harry only lost Louis.

 


	3. the hole in your head (matches the one in my heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments on chapter 2! Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> also, I made a Louis playlist titled "I Heard A Rumour" for the series!! you can find the link next in the series, so check it out if you're interested :D

 

Louis looks up from his Nintendo DS when a folder hits the tabletop in front of him with a soft  _phlump_. He's been hiding in the lounge for two hours--door closed and headphones on--in an attempt to discourage Harry from initiating conversation.

 

"I need to talk to you," says Harry, pulling out the chair across from Louis and sitting down. _It was nice while it lasted_ , Louis thinks ruefully. He means the _silence_ , but the fact that the sentiment applies to his and Harry's relationship as well is not lost on him.

 

"Alright," Louis says cautiously, sitting up and pulling out his earbuds. He thinks he knows where this is going. Harry had said  _need_ , not  _want_ , and that makes him marginally less nervous. Conversations of necessity, he can do. In fact, if Harry'  _truly_ ever needed anything--like an alibi...or a kidney--Louis suspects that he would come running. Because Harry was his first love, and Louis is weak.

 

"There's been an offer on our house in Spain," Harry rushes out, and it sounds odd--theirs. Technically it is still _their's_ , even if the future isn't.

 

"Ah," says Louis. It was Louis' favorite. It was the house they were supposed to raise their children in.

 

"I want to sell it," Louis says, and maybe his answer comes a little too quick. Harry looks taken aback, and it makes Louis angry (and _huh_ he really thought he was further along in the stages of grief) the way that Harry keeps _reacting_ \--reacting like he has the right to be sad--reacting like he's the injured party. Like it wasn't him that threw away their future, him who humiliated Louis' most personal dreams. Like it wasn't him who made a mockery of the vows they inked into their skin.

 

"Why," Louis says softly, like Harry might spook if he doesn't tread carefully--despite the fact that they're in a plane and there is no where for him to go--"What do _you_ want to do?"

 

"Does it matter what I want?" Harry asks, looking up from his clasped hands--and he doesn't say what they're both thinking--that Harry wanting and Harry getting what he wanted is what led them here, "It makes no difference, if I can't have it with you."

 

"Maybe because I want to know what goes on in your mind," Louis says, and he wishes he had asked Harry last year (wishes it would have made a difference), "I used to think I knew."

 

"Regret, mostly," Harry says, pursing his lips when Louis sighs. "What?" he asks, and it's sharp, but not as sharp as it could have been.

 

"What could you possibly regret," Louis says, the words bitter and dry on his tongue, and he lets them hang there, like he's not really expecting an answer.

 

Harry stares at him blankly for a moment. A pause, before, " _Everything_ ," he says emphatically.

 

Louis raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, "Do you really regret anything, Harry, or are you just lonely?"

 

Louis thinks of the scandal that would have ensued, had Simon found out about Harry's extracurriculars. Of the _consequences_ Harry would faced if Liz had wised up to his less-than-sterling intentions with her oldest foster-son. Thinks of how messy things could have gotten. Louis is a man of passion and feeling, and the emotional toll he paid for Harry's actions was always going to be high. But he can appreciate--objectively--that the fallout, for Harry, could have been much worse. Messing around with someone's boyfriend? Messing around _on_ your boyfriend? Harry is something of a karma Houdini to have walked away without an STD, or even a punch to the face. What is there for Harry to regret, exactly? He practically escaped unscathed.

 

"I mean...you could have lost so much," Louis says, "Shouldn't you be grateful there were no _lasting_ consequences?" and he thinks darkly,  _for you_. He can't help but think of Lexipro and lost sleep, (can't help but think) of Ashton's pale face and his own shaking hands. But for once he's not trying to think like a person who cares about collateral damage. He's trying to think like Harry.

 

Harry looks utterly offended at the question. "Lou," he says, almost a whisper, and he sounds betrayed, "I lost  _you._ "

 

Louis stares at Harry like he's trying to recognize him; tries to reconcile the impervious persona Harry's put on for the last year, with this sad creature in front of him. Tries to imagine Harry missing him.

 

"What does that even mean?" Louis asks. It feels like Harry's learned an entirely new language in the eleven months they've been apart. His words are familiar but the meaning is foreign.

 

"You had me," Louis says, before Harry has a chance to reply, "You had me from the first time you told me you had a crush on me at the contestants' house. You had me from a fucking month in when you said you wanted to move in with me, I can't--" he says, shaking his head, "You threw it away, you threw _me_ away, and I still don't understand it, don't understand what you really wanted, but whatever it was, _you_ wanted it. I can't own that." He thinks,  _you have to own that_. 

 

Harry's face is unreadable. Louis finds himself searching Harry's eyes for an answer. They give him none.

 

"All I ever wanted was to protect you," Louis says, and it's as clandestine a confession as any. Louis the protector. Louis the big brother. Louis the fool. Nothing hurts more than having your own image of yourself shattered. That's what hurt Louis the most--that Harry threw his own ideas of himself in his face. Because Louis was...he was happy being half of a couple, he was happy being _Harry's_. And Harry's parting gift was to turn one of his most defining traits into a joke.

 

"I was so wrong," Louis says, a quiet breath of realization, "I never even thought that I might need protecting." The  _from you_ goes unspoken, but no less heard.

 

"Lou...," says Harry, reaching across the table and covering Louis' hands in his own, consolingly. Louis notices, belatedly, that he's shaking. Harry's hands are large and warm against his own and almost feel like a perfect fit. 

 

"Why?" Louis says, and his voice feels hoarse, like he's been screaming--like he's been screaming for years. _Why did Harry have to go and fall in love with him?_ Why did Harry have to go and fall _out_ of love with him? Why Ashton? Just...why.

 

"I don't know why," Harry says, like he couldn't write a five-page psych paper on his own subjective reasoning and internal motivation. Like he isn't lying to himself.

 

"It's been two years, Harry," Louis says, pulling his hands back, "Maybe you should figure it out."

 

* * *

 

When the plane lands Harry's eyes are dry and Louis' hands are still. Zayn is waiting for them on the tarmac, leaning against a black SUV with his sunglasses on even though the sun's set an hour ago, two lattes clutched in his hands.

 

"You look like you work for Torchwood," Louis says, accepting the Starbucks cup labeled " _Lewie_ " gratefully. Zayn beams. "Nerd," Louis says fondly, and laughs. Alberto hands Harry something that looks like a 5 shot Hazelnut venti, and Zayn raises his eyebrows in silent judgement at their bandmate's pretentiousness.

 

"Does that make me your Ianto?" Zayn purrs in Louis' ear as they climb into the back of the SUV. Harry glares at Zayn's hand on Louis' waist and Louis has a moment of disassociation. He thinks how different this moment would be, if he and Harry were still together. If Harry had decided to let him keep his illusions. If he had never moved out, if Zayn hadn't offered a shoulder to cry on. He and Zayn wouldn't be as close as they are now. Harry wouldn't frown as much.

 

"Don't be silly," Louis says, "I'm Ianto...you're Harkness, of course," and Zayn nods seriously, accepting that answer. Louis sips his latte, forgetting Harry for a moment. It's easier than he ever thought it could be. He thinks of their upcoming break (or as close to a break as they ever get), and of the tattoo he's planning on getting next month. He thinks--wistfully--of sleeping past six. There are roughly seventy-two hours left in the tour. Last year Louis would have said, if he can survive the next three days then he can survive anything. This year he knows he can survive anything.

 

Louis settles in the backseat of the SUV and thinks,  _bring it on_.

 

* * *

 

"He's a mess," Louis says to Ashton with a roll of his eyes as he brushes past the younger boy, figuring it's not necessary to specify who he's talking about. Halfway through soundcheck Harry stepped out to take a phone call and still hasn't come back. Louis would almost think Harry's avoiding him, except that would be ridiculous, especially after what Harry said on the plane. Or maybe Harry is avoiding him because of what was said on the plane. Maybe he feels he said too much and is now regretting his honesty (if it _even was_ honesty).

 

"Harry?" Ashton asks, genuine surprise in his voice, and Louis sometimes wonders what goes on in the Australian boy's head. Wonders how someone can have a liaison with their co-worker and come off with such an air of unaffected innocence. Louis knows Ashton feels guilt, but he doesn't act _guilty_. There's a difference, a difference of action and intent.

 

"Don't act like you don't know this," Louis says, and he doesn't mean to snap, but sometimes between Ashton's wide eyes and his cute accent Louis feels like he's being manipulated. Like how kittens purr and nuzzle you when really they just want food.

 

Ashton frowns, like maybe he knows that Louis just compared him to a _kitten_ and says, "We haven't talked in months." He gestures in a confused manner with his drumsticks, "In fact, he hasn't said more than two words to me since last tour," a nd Louis has trouble believing that because Ashton, well Ashton talks to everyone. He talks to the fans outside the hotel until security tells him it's curfew, and he talks to his band throughout soundcheck (and throughout their show, and dinner), and he talks to Zayn and Niall at length on whatever nerdy topic is the discussion of the evening. Louis is not a _quiet_ person by any stretch, and he still thinks he's never met anyone with as many words as Ashton. Louis once caught him having an impassioned debate with one of the sound guys about a political subject that Ashton couldn't even legally vote on, let alone fully understand.

 

"No way," Louis says, not believing that the snappy exchange Ashton and Harry had the morning after the slumber party was their first conversation in a year.

 

"It's not like we talked that much before," Ashton says, shrugging like Louis should know how it goes and maybe he does, "Harry didn't exactly come to me for conversation."

 

Louis cringes at the imagery and Ashton mouths _sorry_ like he just realized how that sounded. Ashton rocks back and forth on his toes and says, "I don't really keep up with Harry, for obvious reasons. He's more Michael's friend, anyway," and  shrugs, "You know how I like to avoid drama," he says, shooting Louis a self-deprecating grin, and Louis laughs.

 

"It's nice to know your sense of sarcasm is alive and well," Louis says, thinking of bullying campaigns and maliciously spread rumors. Only someone with a talent for attracting trouble could have two bandmates leak nudes in a year and still receive the most amount of twitter hate. He wonders if Ashton is targeted because--like Louis--he comes from a lower social class than his bandmates and the general public is classist assholes, or if Ashton subconsciously invites it like a siren out of a sense of protectiveness. If, while he'd rather no one hail abuse at him, he'd rather it be him than his brothers. In a lot of ways, he and Ashton have more in common than Louis acknowledges (maybe more in common than he'd _like_ ).

 

"Well, you know, they teach it young in Australia," Ashton says with a smirk, "We'd never survive, otherwise," and part of Louis is darkly curious about the things Ashton's survived. He wants to know what left the scar low on the back of his skull, behind his right ear. It's only noticeable when Ashton's hair is a sweaty mess after shows, when it parts enough to reveal a vertical pink line. Probably only Calum knows what incident it came from, he and maybe some AE nurse in North County. But Louis is curious (sue him, he's a Capricorn through and through) about so many things.

 

"Good, that," Louis says, patting Ashton on the shoulder. Ashton leans into Louis' touch--like a cat--giggling, and Louis wonders if Ashton can read his mind. Louis winces, it's not a superpower he'd wish on anyone--especially anyone in the vicinity of their friend-group.

 

"What's on your mind?" Ashton says, smile too full of teeth like he's telling a private joke, and Louis ever wonders.

 

"I--," says Louis, looking over Ashton's shoulder as the venue door swings behind them, signaling Harry's return. Ashton's giggle sobers and his shoulders tense minutely, but he keeps his eyes on Louis, ignoring the movement behind him, "I was wondering...what  _gigila_ _tuahine_ means?" Louis finishes, and Ashton's face lights up in surprise, then delight.

 

"Were you listening in on my face-time conversation?" Ashton teases, and Louis blushes, caught, "Just a bit...sorry," he says, "In my defense, it's hard not to when people start speaking other languages."

 

Ashton smiles wider, showing even more of his teeth, and says, "It's _ngingila_   _tuahine_ , actually, it's like a phrase of affection," he explains, "It's...I picked it up from Calum."

 

"I figured," Louis says, thinking it's the coolest thing since Niall speaking Spanish, "That's--," but before he can say  _fucking awesome_ , Harry is standing in front of him with a look on his face he usually reserves for extremely rude paparazzi, and people that litter.

 

"Isn't there somewhere you should be?" Harry throws at Ashton dismissively, before turning to Louis, "Come on, Lou," he says impatiently, before walking off towards the stage.

 

"What the fuck...," Louis says softly at Harry's retreat, and Ashton makes a rude gesture with his drumsticks at Harry's back.

 

"Like I said, he hasn't really spoken to me since the Texas shows," Ashton says, and there's an edge to his voice, like there's a memory there he'd rather not have.

 

"Texas?" Louis asks, and he feels something in him unexpectedly break. He didn't know he had anything left.

 

"Yes...?" Ashton says, and Louis watches as every muscle beneath his threadbare Nirvana shirt goes taut, like he's waiting to be hit. Louis idly wonders where that instinct could even have come from--Calum doesn't have a malicious bone in his body. Something that looks like acceptance flickers across Ashton's face, and Louis wonders if _he_ does.

 

"Nothing," Louis says, deflating a little, physically and emotionally. He remembers Texas. He remembers an empty bunk and the stale taste in his teeth from too many cigarettes. He remembers the promises Harry made, nearly a year ago. "It was...nothing," he says.

 

 _ So this is what rock bottom feels like,_ Louis thinks. It feels different than he thought it would.

 

* * *

 

"Not to be needy and inconsiderate," Louis says, crawling into Zayn's bed, "But I'm really going to miss you next tour," he says, wrapping around Zayn in his best imitation of a koala, or an octopus.

 

"Louis," says Zayn, and Louis can hear the amused exasperation in his voice, "You're the most needy person I know."

 

"Hmm," says Louis, and he's not disagreeing. Zayn is warm and the room is dark, the combined scent of Zayn's cologne and clean hotel sheets putting him at ease. His eyes start slipping closed against his own accord, only jerking alert when he has a sudden thought.

 

"Do you think, Harry still loves me?" Louis asks, remembering Harry's desperation on the plane. He could just ask Harry, except for the part where he really doesn't want to. And besides, Zayn is more honest than Harry. Comparatively speaking, Ashton is more honest than Zayn--and Calum is possibly more honest than Ashton--but Louis' not sure he's looking for that level of honesty. He wants someone to tell him how to live his life, not brutally dissect his past mistakes. Not that Ashton would do it out of malice, but somehow that makes it even worse.

 

"I know Harry still loves you," Zayn says, and his total lack of hesitation gives Louis pause. Harry, who treated Louis so coldly when he returned to get his clothes from their Cheshire home. Harry, who turned things around and accused _Louis_  of cheating on _him_. Harry, who walked away emotionally, months before Louis walked away physically. _That_ Harry  _loves_ him?

 

"Do you think he's...still _in love_ with me?" Louis asks, and holds his breath. It seems impossible to imagine, to _believe_. What would be the point of it?

 

"As much as he ever was," Zayn says, and Louis can't see his face for the dark. _Maybe_ , he thinks, maybe Zayn is the better judge of these things. But Louis hasn't seen Zayn face-time Perrie in three days (versus his usual twice a day), and he knows Perrie is still wearing her ring. Maybe it's easier to see the truth of someone's relationship when you're not the one in it.

 

Zayn wraps his arms around Louis, stroking over his back out of habit, and Louis thinks of Harry's face when they were put through to the live shows. Thinks of that perfect moment, the moment he knew that Harry would be a part of his life _forever_  and can't reconcile it with the idea that Harry could still love him as much as he did then. Because that would mean there's no difference between the Harry who excitedly showed Louis his first tattoo and the Harry who messed around behind his back for months. He _needs_ there to be a difference. For the sake of closure. For his own sanity.

 

 _I guess it was never enough then_ , Louis thinks, and it's still a hard pill to swallow, even after two years.  _I guess I was never enough_. Louis snuggles deeper into Zayn's arms and wonders if Zayn and Perrie are going to make it to the altar. He hopes--not entirely altruistically--that they do. If Zayn's leaving him, it better be worth it.

 

* * *

 

"Ugg," says Ashton when Louis lets himself into his hotel room to wake him up.

 

"You're kind of stereotypical, you know?" Louis says, throwing open Ashton's curtains and flooding the bedroom with Florida sunlight, "Lives on coffee, does yoga unironically, has good hair,"

 

"Well aren't you kind of a stereotype yourself?" Ashton says, rolling over and throwing his arm over his face dramatically, "Half a sleeve of sketch tattoos, smokes, tries to skateboard...?"

 

"Ashton Fletcher Irwin...are you implying I'm a poser?" Louis says, turning to look at his friend, pretending to be scandalized.

 

"I didn't say that," Ashton says with a grin, "I'm just saying you wouldn't be out-of-place in a teen comedy."

 

Louis lets out a gasp that would definitely get him sent back to media training if any of the heads of Modest heard it,  "Well I'm not the gay dude who's so organized he packs for his bandmates. HDTV called, they want their cliche back," Louis says and Ashton laughs.

 

"Psshh!" Ashton says, sitting up, curly hair such a mess he resembles a cat that just came out of the dryer, "I'm not  _gay_ ," he says, and Louis thinks there's a bit much incredulity in his voice for someone who's only been with dudes. Like, Louis' not judging, and he didn't mean to assume, but empirical data and all that shit.

 

"I'm sorry," Louis says sarcastically, "I was misled by your eighteen-month relationship with a dude," he says, not mentioning Harry.

 

"I'm not gay...I'm not anything," Ashton says, looking thoughtful, like he's never had to explain it to anyone before, "I'm just with Calum." He shrugs, "And it's twenty months official, but it's more like twenty-five since we first got together," he says, ever the stickler for details.

 

"What's official?" Louis asks, thinking of how he and Harry always celebrated the day that they first moved in together. Thinking of how they would have celebrated their ~~fourth~~  anniversary just a few weeks ago.

 

"Well, we celebrate the day that Cal asked me to be in the band 'cause we're cheesy like that, but that's more like our band's birthday. Me and Calum celebrate Feb. 1st as the closest thing to an anniversary," Ashton says, his eyes wandering around the room until they land on the coffee Louis brought him. He makes grabby hands and Louis hands it over.

 

"You're a godsend," Ashton mutters into the foam of his cappuccino, and Louis isn't sure whether Ashton's talking to him or his coffee.

 

"What happened on the first of February?" Louis asks, "Did Calum propose again?" he jokes, throwing himself backwards onto the hotel room's second bed with a soft _ooph_.

 

"No, he...he referred to Harry as his brother," he says quietly, like he's not sure he wants to tell Louis something so private, or doesn't know if spilling his heart at half six is appropriate.

 

"Harry?" Louis says, his brain slow with six a.m. fog, "My Haz, not yours," Ashton clarifies and Louis mentally smacks himself. 

 

"We were buying Haz something, like shoes for school or something and Calum, he said, _'only the best for my little brother_ ," Ashton says fondly, mouth turning up involuntarily at the memory, "I figured that meant more than the proposal."

 

_"_ Wow _,"_ says Louis, doesn't say _that's kind of sickeningly_ _sweet_ , because it's too early for cynicism and Louis' trying to be a good person, so he just says, "So you guys are really serious," even though already knew they were, knew it ever since he found out what ngingila tuahine meant (knew it ever since Calum glared daggers at him on the smoker's porch eight months ago). He doesn't know why he's been avoiding the truth. Except he does, and it has everything to do with seeing others have what he no longer does. No wanting like what was had and then lost, and all that jazz.

 

"Well, when there's kids involved you can't really  _not_ be serious," Ashton says, sounding closer to forty than twenty, and Louis wonders if Ashton has any idea how very  _young_ he truly is, "But as soon as Haz started asking when was Calum coming over again I knew he was a long-term thing, that he had to be," and he shrugs, like soulmates and life partners just fall into your lap at seventeen. Like it really is just that simple. And Louis wants to be jealous, but that would make him a hypocrite of the first order.

 

Instead he says, "So...you're...pan?" curious about the distinction Ashton made earlier. There doesn't seem to be one from where Louis' sitting. Calum's a dude. Ashton only likes Calum. Ergo, Ashton likes dudes. Not that it matters, really--Ashton's probably gonna marry Calum anyway--it's just semantics. But it apparently matters to  _Ashton_. And Louis' got a soft spot in his heart for anyone that falls more outside the norm than usual.

 

Ashton shakes his head, "No, I'm just...have you ever heard the term 'grey ace'?" and Louis shakes his head. He googled enough shit when he was eighteen to figure out he was demisexual and left it at that. He got a name and a flag and he was good to go--he didn't get too far into the colors and spectrums.

 

"It's like, I'm really grey, like way grey, like on one end of the ace spectrum and the only thing that's not grey is Calum," Ashton explains, waving his arms his arms between hypothetical asexuality and where Calum metaphorically lies, "Calum's like, my one in a million, I probably wouldn't know I could be attracted to people if it weren't for him."

 

 _Lucky Calum_ , Louis thinks, sipping his own cuppa. Then he thinks  _wait..._ "...but what about Harry?" Louis asks, and he really wants there to be a point in his life when his thoughts stop ending in  _what about Harry_.

 

"What about Harry?" Ashton repeats, confused, looking up from where he's sorting through his duffel bag for a pair of basketball shorts.

 

"Was he like Calum?" Louis asks, and Ashton scrunches up his face in immediate disapproval, "I mean," Louis says, "Was he, different? Was he not grey?"

 

"I don't like dudes, generally speaking," Ashton says, making a face like the idea of kissing anyone besides Calum is _ridiculous_ , and continues, "You're demi, right? Just imagine if no one ever clicked on, if no one ever moved from vaguely 'nice' to truly appealing."

 

And it's not hard to imagine--a world of Hannahs and Eleanors and observing his friends' relationships from the outside, never really understanding them--that's not what Louis' confused about. He's just...confused. Because up until this point a small part of him thought of Ashton as a rival for Harry's attention. And in order for someone to be a _rival_ there has to be an element of mutualism.To know that Ashton never saw Harry as an object of affection in any way (to know that Ashton was _incapable_ of seeing Harry that way) destroys one of the few certainties he thought he had. He looks at Ashton like he wants to ask him _what the fuck_. But he doesn't. Because it's early and Ashton's digging through his duffel for a shirt that's more fabric than holes and Louis' only halfway through his first cuppa. Because it's Louis' revelation, not Ashton's. And because sometimes Louis thinks he understands what Calum sees when he looks at Ashton.

 

But that doesn't stop the wheels from turning in his head.

 

"I used to consider Harry like a cool older brother that I wanted to impress," Ashton says, an answer to a question unasked, and all Louis hears is the past tense. Louis used to consider Harry so many things.

 

"And now?" he says, hands wrapped tightly around his cardboard cup to hide their shaking, his fingertips pressed tight together in a bid to soak up composure as much as warmth. 

 

"Now I simply consider him a failure," Ashton says, head bowed over neatly folded band tees, lips pursed as if in thought, "My own," he says, rare bitterness coloring his words. Mid-morning sun has set his curls aglow and Louis wonders if Harry thought him beautiful, or just easy. The former would be easier to take--comfort found in the dignity of truth--but Louis is coming around to the notion that his comfort is not the only one that matters.

 

"And I try not to dwell on my failures," Ashton says, shooting Louis a meaningful look over the top of his coffee-cup. Louis understands a little bit more about Ashton, about Harry, and about himself every day. He's still not sure if that's a good thing or not.

 

 

* * *

 

Harry knocks on Louis' hotel door at half past ten in the evening, and apparently it's thing they do now. Talking. Like, they have one mildly functional conversation and Harry assumes they're best mates again.

 

Harry is poised to knock a second time when Louis opens the door, one arm resting on the door-jam and the other around Ashton's waist as he sees the younger boy out. Surprise, to displeasure, to apathy flicker across Harry's face at a lightening pace before he settles on something like a bland grimace. It looks like his interview smile.

 

Louis' arm rises protectively, instinctively, until it rests lightly on Ashton's shoulder, right above where Harry once pressed a perfect set of matching bruises. A year and a half is plenty time for a wound to fade, but Louis remembers.

 

"I was just leaving," Ashton says, listing a little to the side to get through the doorway without touching Harry. Louis wonders if it's solely for his own benefit--he's starting to suspect Ashton has an aversion to touch--or whether Ashton's self-conscious about interacting with Harry in front of Louis. It's probably both.

 

Harry brushes past Louis on his way into the room, and his body language screams annoyance even as he attempts to keep his face neutral. Tries, and almost succeeds. He seems to be in conflict, a war of words threatening to spill. The thought that finally wins out is-- "Why are you friends with him?", confusion in his eyes and displeasure in his voice.

 

Louis gives him a look of total incredulity, "...Ashton?" he asks, "Why wouldn't I be friends with him?" Louis likes to think that who has happened to have had Harry's dick in them doesn't determine how Louis treats them (he likes to think).

 

"Because--" Harry says, making a sweeping gesture between Louis and himself, like he can sum up three years of love--and a year and a half of heartbreak--in one flailing gesture.

 

"Because..." Louis says, filling in the blanks, "Because I'm supposed to evaluate my friendships based on your sexual history? Is that what you're trying to say?"

 

"It's not like that," Harry tries, lamely, sitting on the edge of the bed with a put-upon huff.

 

"It's a little like that," says Louis, and his expression could cut glass.

 

Harry sighs. "I just thought," he says, "That if you were to cut one of us out of your life...it wouldn't be me."

 

"Ashton didn't hurt me, Harry," Louis says slowly, crossing his arms and leaning against the dresser across from Harry, "You did."

 

"That's a bit rich," Harry says, and Louis is still unaccustomed to the vitriol in Harry's voice ever being directed at _him_ , "It takes two to tango."

 

 _Yeah,_ Louis thinks with a derisive laugh,  _Ashton told me all about your tango,_  and he shakes his head. There was so much said in the bruises Ashton was desperate to hide. There was so much said in what he didn't say.

 

"What?" Harry asks, not sure what Louis' laughing about, but sure he's missing something.

 

"It wasn't just _cheating_ Harry, it wasn't just--" Louis says, ending in a noise of incoherent frustration. He almost wishes Ashton were still here, so he could push him in front of Harry and scream _do you think he really wanted you?_  So he could force a confrontation that will never happen. So he could make Harry face what he's done...to all of them. Except he doesn't really wish Ashton was here. He feels like he and Harry have dragged Ashton into their bullshit enough as it is. Louis knows, deep down, that it starts and ends with them. That Ashton was nothing more than a pawn to Harry, and that makes it worse, in a way. 

 

"If it was somebody I didn't know, if it was someone who was older, if it was completely consensual, then maybe, maybe I could get over it," Louis says, and he thinks he's being more honest than Harry deserves, "Maybe I could have gotten over it if you'd shown that you'd given a fuck about me _or_ Ashton," and that's the true salt in his wounds, isn't it? To have your love spat on for something that didn't even _mean_ anything?

 

"Do you know how much worse it feels?" he asks before Harry has a chance to try and defend himself, "To be cheated on with someone you don't even care about? It makes me feel like less than nothing," and he stills feels that--even though the wound's no longer fresh--still feels the ache in his lungs from when Harry took his breath away.

 

Harry takes him in with wary eyes, like he's thought most of the things Louis' saying before, he just never wanted to believe them. But he focuses on the part his conscience still can't reconcile--"What do you mean,  _if_ it was consensual?" Harry says, shaking his head, "How could you think so little of me?" and even now, after they've fallen so far, he's still asking the wrong questions.

 

"Oh Harry," Louis says, and the sympathy in his voice isn't meant to dig the knife deeper, but it still does the job, "You don't even _know?_ "

 

"Know what?" Harry asks, and he looks equal parts defiant and terrified.

 

Louis backs up until his knees hit the edge of the other hotel bed and sits, pulling his legs up and burying his face in his knees.

 

" _Louis_ ," Harry says again, the desperation obvious in his voice, and Louis doesn't have the words to describe. Doesn't know if he can make Harry understand what he chose to not see.

 

"Harry," Louis says, lifting his face to look his ex-boyfriend in the eye, "How much weight can 'yes' carry, when it's the person who holds your fate asking for permission?" and he watches Harry's face pale.

 

"No," Harry says, closing his eyes and making a noise of dissent, "I would never...I never..." 

 

"But you did," Louis says, and his words sound cold even to him. It's his moment of retribution, and yet it feels oddly hollow. The anger is still there, held under scars he formed for his own survival, but the dominos of consequence fell long ago. As the truth falls from his lips it doesn't seem to touch him, but it does touch Harry.

 

"You seem to have wildly overestimated your own appeal," Louis says, and he knows it will cut Harry deep. _Good_ , he thinks. Someone's got to bring Harry crashing back to reality, it's only fair that it be him. He really didn't want to do this on the last night of tour, but Louis has a lot of experience in putting needs before wants. Zayn would probably call it cathartic--Louis just feels nauseous.

 

"He was looking for an older brother figure, Harry, that's what he wanted," Louis says softly, and he feels so so tired, "But you only saw what you wanted to see," and for once he curses Harry's blind ambition. His blind ambition that brought them to this point, in every sense of the word.

 

"You saw _want_ and you saw _need_ and you reinterpreted it with your dick," Louis says, and if he'd reeled back and hit Harry across the face he wouldn't have looked more struck. A look of anguish passes over Harry's face and Louis feels vindicated at the knowledge that Harry is finally thinking of someone other than himself.

 

Harry hangs his head, his fingers splayed against the bedspread, gripping the edge of the bed tight, knuckles white. Louis can practically hear his thoughts of self-beration, and his instinct to protect Harry from all forms of pain and unhappiness wars with his desire for resolution. Harry lets out a sigh that sounds wet, and Louis can see him trying to discreetly wipe his eyes, and this moment feels so insignificant to Louis. It's just him in his hotel room after seeing his friend off for the night. But for Harry it's a moment of revelation, his whole world is shifting. He's just now finding out that he's the villain in this story.

 

"You know," Louis says idly, "I never wished for any unhappiness for you," and thinks  _I probably should have_.

 

"You're a much better person than me," Harry says, and it might be the truth, but it doesn't change a thing. 

 

Louis laughs, "You say that like that means anything," and Harry winces. Louis puts his hands over Harry's, an attempt to soothe Harry's death-grip on the comforter.

  

"I should leave," Harry says, and Louis can read his face clear as day; he knows he doesn't deserve the comfort.

 

"It's okay," Louis says, "You left a while ago."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments/kudos if you liked it! <3
> 
> My tumblr is 'gonnabreakhisheart', so come say hi if you have one! :D


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